


Out of my Mind

by crackers4jenn



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:37:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackers4jenn/pseuds/crackers4jenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwight has an usual and unprofessional dream about Pam. (Takes place in season 3.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of my Mind

Dwight stood tall, his cape flapping in the wind. Thankfully, the world was safe. Because of him. Because he single-handedly intercepted an Apocalyptic phone call from the President while Jim Halpert, the world's biggest loser, could only look on, trembling. And he'd fought off an army of Ninjas and Cylons, and now, the entire Dunder Mifflin office were on their feet, slow-clapping their praise. Neither warranted nor desired, but he didn't dissuade their affection.

"You're such a _hero_!" Angela cried out, clasping her hands together.

"Yes," he allowed. "I am."

Pam said, "Oh, Dwight!" and rushed at him. He enveloped her in his arms, bent her over, and kissed her both passionately and awesomely while Jim made wounded eyes at the cameras.

"Pam," he gasped once their frantic lipping was over. "God, I love you."

 

***

 

Dwight sprang into a consciousness so startling, so full of clarity, the red numbers blinking _3:24_ from his bed-side alarm clock didn't even register. Instead he felt a swift panic, a rising memory of the dream that'd awoken him, and then another subsequent round of panic.

"No," he said.

But the imagery lingered on.

 

***

 

Two hours later, he let himself into the office.

When he walked past the reception desk, he faltered. Invisible to the human eye, and lasting only a fraction of a second, but still. It wouldn't do. So he had a sex dream about Pam? Big deal. It wasn't even sex, it was harmless kissing. A showing of gratitude from a civilian.

While rearranging the various toys and paper weights on Michael's desk, Pam arrived at work. He gulped while watching her through the open blinds in Michael's office.

"Hey, Dwight," she greeted, pleasant for so early in the morning.

She slid off her coat and hung it up on the rack, getting her work station ready for the day. (She _was_ always so efficient, if not lacking in other aspects; like character.) When she walked past Michael's office to head to the break room, she gave him a small, easy smile. He did not return it.

Because Pam was neither assertive nor domineering, she did not naturally stimulate his sex organ or stir up any romantic feelings. As a Schrute, Dwight was wired to find a mate best suitable for breeding. Which is why Angela was a viable option. She would rear their children, should they ever have them, with an iron fist, just like he was raised. She wouldn't allow their children to dilly or to dawdle. They'd work the beet field, and Angela would see to it that they possessed the proper qualities required of a man.

Pam, however, would never be able to ensure a strong blood line. She'd _mother_ their children, making them weak with feelings and emotions.

Essentially she was a hereditary nightmare for the Schrutes, which is why it made so much sense that he was able to deflect her pheromones.

The smell of coffee hit him. He finished his task before heading to the break room. Where Pam still lingered, huddled against the counter with a mug of steaming coffee in her hands. She held it like she was trying to steal its warmth, which was ridiculous. The thermostat was always set at a toasty and conservative 65 degrees.

"Cold," she said, then smiled, taking a sip.

Dwight's eyes lingered on their own to where her mouth met the mug. She had exceptionally feminine features. Impossibly frail shoulders, though, and what real labor could she do around the beet farm with that kind of frame?

He poured himself a cup, took a deep, satisfying swig that burned his throat and warmed up his chest. "Ahhh," he said, smacking his mouth together.

She nodded, eyes lit with amusement. "Hits the spot, huh?"

"It's okay," he shrugged, then felt compelled to add, "Fact: I can regulate my own levels of endorphin, guaranteeing that I can over-stimulate my brain _whenever I want_. I can also replicate the effects of a sugar crash."

Her fingers, curled and covering half of the printed 'Dunder Mifflin' logo on the mug, tapped a tuneless beat. "Cool," she said, and blew at her coffee.

"Well," he said. "Bye."

 

***

 

Dwight was trained to notice peculiar behavior. Also repetitive behavior. Which is why, even though Jim was dating Karen, it didn't take a genius to notice that he still had feelings for Pam.

They'd look at each other and smile, nauseatingly, or relay some message to one another with a disgusting giggle, hah-hah, _whatever_.

The point was, Jim had Karen. And yet there was still something about Pam that allowed Jim to forget that fact.

Dwight pushed his chair back and got up. He took the long way to the reception area, the one that had him passing Jim's desk. Jim, of course, noticed.

"Hello, Pam," Dwight said. Thoughtlessly, he tapped at her desk. A trick to keep his hands from cramping. Beneficial and preventative, guaranteeing that carpal tunnel syndrome would never be a hindrance to him.

She looked first at his fingers, then at him. "Hey, Dwight."

"So, what's the news?"

Her eyes grew half a size. "The... news?"

"Question: how are you liking your Prism DuroSport?"

"...what?"

"Your music player? From Christmas."

"Oh! Right. Yeah, it's... still existing, I guess."

"Uh, yeah!" he laughed. "That's because they're sturdy, durable, and made from high quality ingredients, like plastic."

Almost sympathetically, she asked, "Dwight, are you... okay?"

"Fine. I've never felt better." That was a lie. Routinely he felt _nearly_ at the top of his game. It wasn't until he was at home, on the beet farm, that he felt 100%.

"You didn't... hit your head, did you? This morning? Or maybe late last night?"

"Nooo." He dragged the vowel sound out, in case she wouldn't catch on to the absurdity of her statement. Though that _would_ explain the dream.

"Because, it's just. You're acting--"

"Normally, like I always act? Oh!" His gaze had locked on her candy jar. "Hey, are those jelly beans?"

Her eyes skipped from him to the camera crew that was lurking around them. "Yeah..."

Gathering some of the candy into his palm, he eyed her critically. Then, "Excellent work, Pam," he said, and held her stare for a second longer before heading back to his desk again.

He heard her say, "Thanks, Dwight," absentmindedly.

 

***

 

It's not even like Pam was a catch.

She wore _loafers_. In Pennsylvania.

Although... she did always have a sweater on. That showed climate sensibility.

 

***

 

Definitely, she was no Starbuck.

Maybe one of Jennifer Garner's aliases on Alias. Like a librarian. Who doubled as an assassin.

 

***

 

"Hello, Pam," Dwight said, entering the break room. As he headed for the refrigerator to grab his usual beet soup, she looked up from her yogurt.

"Dwight," she sighed. "Hello."

He chose to ignore her glimpse at the camera. Fact: as a default by wasting way too much time with Jim Halpert, she had begun to take on his more egregious of habits. Monkeying to the camera like an ape showing off to the humans ( _mistake_ ; that is why they are in zoos, and humans are not) was one of them.

With his lunch in hand, he joined her at the table. She had a newspaper opened out in front of her, and was slowly, casually thumbing through the classifieds.

"Ohh," his lips pursed. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Her eyes went first to her yogurt cup, then to the paper, then to the cameras, before landing back on him. "Do what?"

Dwight eyeballed a camera of his own, one lurking from a different angle. Apparently whatever Toby and Kelly were up to in the annex wasn't as thrilling as the soundbite Dwight and Pam were offering. Surprising.

( _Not._ )

With a smirk, for he thrilled in the chance to educate, he told her, "Newspapers come from paper, paper come from trees, trees produce oxygen. Oxygen thus serves as a breeding ground for bacteria, which thrives on person-to-person contact, or, in this case, newspaper-to-person contact."

"Oh," was all she managed, eying the paper with a new found awareness.

"Yeah," he empathized. "Disgusting. Think how many people have touched that, in this work space alone. The germs. The bacteria."

Almost as if to prove his point, Kevin exited the men's room. In his hand was the sports section, which he placed back onto the table. Right beside where Pam had abandoned the classifieds.

"Hey, guys," Kevin said, looking back and forth between the two of them. He wore one of his more idiotic of smiles. Then he giggled. "What's going on?"

Dwight sighed, eyes squeezed shut. "Bleat elsewhere," he ordered.

Kevin lost his grin. "I'm not eating..."

Noise filtering in from the office alerted them to an opening door, and Jim came into the break room, hands shoved in his pockets. At the sight in front of him, he broke out into a smirk, though it was mostly directed at Pam. "Hey, guys. What's up?"

Pam offered a small smile while Dwight rolled his eyes. Kevin's grin came back, bigger than before. "I would _not_ go _in there_ if I were you." His eyebrows wiggled towards the men's bathroom.

" _O_ kay," Jim easily agreed. "Not here for that, actually." He pulled out a brown paper bag from the fridge, then held it up, like he was making some kind of point.

Standing up all of a sudden, Pam wore a look of confusion and sickness. Menstrual pain, probably. "I have to go."

When she brushed past him, Jim spun to say, "Oh, you're not staying?" Her response was in the form of an apologetic glance, which had Jim saying, "Okay, then. See ya, Beesley."

Once the door closed behind her, Dwight scoffed. "You are such a _girl_."

Jim made a face, rocked back on his heels. " _Pretty_ sure that's not true."

Though in a less dominant position, since he was seated, Dwight felt no more threatened than he would feel were he having this encounter with a baby squirrel. Do you know how many of those he's had to eliminate over the years? They just climb into his crawl space and get _stuck_ there. Poor things. _Stupid_ things, being the point.

"Really, Jim?" Dwight shot back. "How sure are you?"

Kevin turned a heavy head towards Jim, caught up in the verbal ping pong match.

"One hundred. Wait, no. No, yep, never mind. One hundred percent."

Taking his time to stand up, though he was nowhere near being finished with his meal, Dwight released a satisfied exhale, rubbed his stomach. "Well, I'll let you eat your _woman's_ salad alone, _Jim_. Or should I say, Jim- _girl's name_?"

Kevin nodded, " _Nice_ ," and stuck a palm out for Dwight to tap. It was ignored.

"And," Jim said, " _that_ is sexist, so."

Dwight dumped his trash in the recycling bin; bowl, spoon, and all.

Jim watched with narrowed eyes, a slightly gaping mouth. "Okay, you're definitely throwing away more than you should."

" _Wrong_."

"That's not recyclable." Jim stared at the ceramic bowl Dwight had dumped, and the spoon. "Neither is that."

"One of our country's flaws. If I had it my way, _everything_ would be recyclable."

"Well," Jim smiled, "not _everything_."

"Oh, I mean every," Dwight emphasized, "single," his glare sharpened, " _thing_."

Squinting his eyes, Jim thought long and hard about that. Then, "Paper?"

"Uh, duh. Paper's already a recyclable." Dwight eyed the camera in the corner, his stare saying _Jim Halpert: world class idiot_.

"Ohhhhh, _right_ ," Jim nodded. "Soda bottles?"

With a loud, disgruntled sigh, Dwight wove past. "You're such an _imbecile_."

"Newspapers?"

Dwight pulled open the break room door, but swiveled around and offered one last eye roll. "That would be a sub-tier of paper."

"So, not recyclable. Got it."

"Hey, Dwight," piped up Kevin, who was already laughing at whatever ridiculous, banal thought was running through his head. "What about--" His eyes bounced over items in the room, then landed on, "coffee pot? Is that recyclable?"

"Nice one, Kev," applauded Jim.

Dwight scoffed and left the two neanderthals to themselves.

 

***

 

Pam came to a stop beside Dwight, who was sitting at his desk.

He didn't bother to look up. His peripheral vision was _excellent_.

(Honed for precautionary methods: you never knew what enemy lurked at your side.)

"Dwight?"

"Yes," he allowed, rearranging slightly the bobbleheads on his desk.

"I have a question."

"Acknowledged."

She paused, shifted on her feet. Her shoes were ridiculous. Improper arch support was _hell_ on the back. Also, white was a poor color choice. Black would've been more efficient, since it hid the appearance of defects, dirt, and cow manure.

"It's my mp3 player," she said. "The, uhm, Prism DuroSport? That Roy got me?"

"What about it?"

"So, I got a new one."

His eyes strayed upwards, to hers. The bobbleheads nodded in synchronized formation, forgotten. "Ohh, _that's_ a mistake. Financially, it's a waste. Like throwing away money."

"I know, it's just. It's so big and bulky. I wanted something more..."

Dwight's focus went fuzzy, his voice thickened. The memory of his dream resurfaced. "Feminine," he said.

"I guess," she said, and edged closer to his desk, where she leaned against its length. "And new. After... everything. With Roy."

Her softened words, while normally evidence that she was far too emotional and therefore weak, tugged at something inside of him.

He said, as tonelessly as he could muster, "Understood."

"But I can't transfer the songs over."

"Did you try connecting it to the computer?"

"Yeah, but that Russian site where I got all the music from, it's just a broken web page now. There's some really angrily depicted graphics."

He thought it over. "Bring it to work tomorrow."

"Really?" she said, pushing off the desk.

With a put-on air of nonchalance, plus added impatience, he told her, "I'll see what I can do." It was clear in his actions that he would engage no further in idle chit chat. Unlike Jim, he didn't revel in being a slacker.

As she walked away, Pam wore a smile.

This time he returned it.


End file.
